


Ne plus ultra

by lordhellebore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordhellebore/pseuds/lordhellebore
Summary: You don’t defeat death without paying a price. Did Dumbledore know what would happen to Harry? Draco can’t help but wonder.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 71





	Ne plus ultra

**Author's Note:**

> Not my typical fare, but I needed to get this out of my system. Do heed the Archive Warning.

Harry attacks to kill. 

He lunges at Draco with a hoarse scream, teeth bared, hands twisted into claws. The impact throws them both off their feet, and Draco’s head hits the floor with a violent thud. Stars are sparkling before his eyes when he needs to be able to see Harry, needs to focus to defend his life. There’s a puff of hot breath against his neck, and Draco flails blindly, trying to push Harry’s head away. Human teeth are blunt, but sharp enough to rip out a man’s throat – Draco wouldn’t have thought it possible a year ago, before seeing Healer Ellis lie on the ground and Harry kneeling over him with a blood-smeared mouth.

For a few moments, it seems he’s lost the fight; already, there is pressure on his Adam’s apple. He can feel the blood rush through his veins, hot with fear and the thrill of danger. But then his vision clears, and he manages to grip a handful of hair, jerking Harry’s head back abruptly. Harry howls, fingers burying deep into Draco’s upper arm and cheek. With a sharp twist of the head, he frees himself, leaving Draco with tufts of black hair between his fingers. 

This time, he’s too quick, and it’s sheer luck that makes Draco shift to the side at the last moment, causing Harry’s teeth to sink into his shoulder. The pain makes him yelp, but he welcomes it. It’s something tangible, and he’ll savour the wound, later, when he’s at home. 

Harry gasps when Draco’s knee hits his stomach, and Draco uses the moment to push him away and sit up. Warm blood is running down his arm, dripping down his fingers. He’d like to look and touch the wound, enjoy the feeling that this was done by Harry, that Harry touched him so deep when they’re not allowed to touch any longer. But he must concentrate – Harry is recovering already, lifting himself to his knees. He’s beautiful like this: panting slightly, pale cheeks tinged with a hint of colour, scratches and bruises on his naked body standing out in stark contrast to the white skin that’s usually hidden under the straight-jacket Draco took off him with a spell just after he entered the room. The other Healers always wonder how Harry manages to hurt himself like this.

When Harry looks up, their eyes lock, and Draco has to blink back tears. There’s nothing of the man he loves in those eyes, only the green fury of death, of the thing that crept into him at that place in between, that place Voldemort sent him to with his Killing Curse. You don’t defeat death without paying a price. Did Dumbledore know? Draco can’t help but wonder.

Then the moment is over. Harry attacks again, and there is no time to think; all that Draco can do is react – push, pull, kick, and shove until they’re both flushed and sweating, Draco bleeding from several bites and scratches. 

Finally, Draco manages to get the upper hand, and Harry ends up on his back, Draco sitting on top of him, pinning his wrists to the floor next to his head. As always at this point, Harry stops fighting and relaxes, closing his eyes. It’s consent Draco tries to tell himself, over and over again. Harry could resist if he didn’t want it. Surely, that he doesn’t do it must mean something?

Harry is hard; Draco can feel his cock between them, and he can’t wait any longer, can’t stand the pain of thinking of the past. He needs another kind of pain now. 

There is no preparation, and Draco grits his teeth, hissing as he impales himself on Harry. Something rips, and there’ll be blood, but he can heal himself later. Slowly, he begins to thrust, and beneath him, Harry tenses and does the same, his back arching, ribs shifting under his white skin. It hurts, but that doesn’t matter; all that matters is that they’re together now. At least for a while, everything feels all right again. 

It doesn’t take long before Harry comes with a jerk and a growl, now lying still under Draco, who in turn makes himself come with a few hard strokes on his own cock before he slumps down on Harry’s chest. For a little while, they stay like this, ragged breathing slowing down, Draco’s pulse throbbing in his ears. Harry’s skin is hot against Draco’s and the warmth reminds him of how it used to be when they got together, just after the war, how they’d lie in bed together, naked, Harry’s arms wrapped around Draco’s waist, his head tucked under Draco’s chin. 

In the end, he opens his eyes and carefully sits up. Harry is lying limply, eyes closed, breathing deep and regular. He’s asleep, like so often after their encounters, and Draco cleans both of them with charms, then spells the straight-jacket back on Harry and quickly dresses himself. It’s almost time for the evening check-up, and he doesn’t want to be found alone here. Not that anyone would get suspicious – he _is_ one of Harry’s Healers after all – but he prefers to be safe rather than sorry. Regulations prescribe that for safety reasons, two Healers must be present to deal with Harry, and there is Draco’s wife to be considered. 

Although they’re not touching anymore after two children and she’s never mentioned anything, he can’t be certain that she won’t notice his injuries, and if somebody told her about Harry’s inexplicable wounds and the fact that they saw Draco alone in Harry’s room, she’d be able to put two and two together. If there’s one thing that Astoria is not, it’s stupid.

Before he leaves, Draco kneels down next to Harry. His fingers are shaking when he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of his face. He’s got to be alert and ready to whip out his wand – Harry could only pretend to be asleep – but so far, nothing has ever happened. Harry sighs under the touch, but doesn’t move, and Draco, as always, takes the risk and leans in for a kiss. Harry’s lips are as warm and soft as they were twelve years ago when they’d kissed for the first time. Sometimes, Draco thinks he’ll go insane with how much he misses it.

He’d like to stay longer, watch Harry sleep peacefully like he used to during their nights together, but he knows he’s got to go. “I’ll be back,” he whispers, then he gets up, throws on Harry’s old Invisibility Cloak and carefully slips out of the room.

He'll be back – he always will, he’s learnt that much. How often has he tried to stay away? Over the years, he’s lost count, until he stopped caring. All of this is terribly wrong – if their places were swapped, Harry would never. He’s the better person, always has been. He raised Draco up after the war, when he’d spoken for him and his family, when he’d insisted there was good in him, or else he wouldn’t have helped them.

Now that this Harry is gone, Draco’s fall was all the deeper. It doesn’t matter that he’s a Healer now, that he’s married, respected – because although it’s Harry who tries to kill anybody he sees, Draco knows that in the end, between the two of them, it’s he who is the monster.


End file.
